


Small Victories

by KrisEleven



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Canon Compliant, Gen, Male Friendship, Website: Heart of Camelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisEleven/pseuds/KrisEleven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the new Knights of the Round Table's victory over Morgana and Morgause's Immortal Army, Lancelot and Arthur have a conversation on patrol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Victories

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Hearts of Camelot forum's 2012 Holiday Exchange. A lovely person named semperfortis requested a fic in which: "Arthur and the original Round Table Knights (and Merlin of course!) are off on patrol/quest somewhere. Everyone else is sleeping... but Lancelot and Arthur have a conversation." This was my effort to oblige. Set immediately following Morgana's coup in the finale of season 3, the knights are out on patrol reassuring the countryside. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

* * *

The fire’s light didn’t reach far enough into the trees to illuminate Lancelot as he circled the camp. He could see everyone as they readied for the night: Merlin bent over the stitching on Percival’s harness, muttering to himself as the knights unpacked bedrolls and settled down without speaking. Lancelot knew why the knights were unusually quiet; he felt the same bone-deep weariness as they must. It had been a long month since Morgana had taken over the throne, since commoners had been raised to the ranks of the knighthood, since Uther had fallen into madness... there was much to do to reassure the people of Camelot that they were safe. Lancelot had never been so weary in his life. He grasped the edge of his red cloak with his fingers, reassuring himself that it was still there.

He finished his circuit of the camp and made his way through the trees, walking into the firelight slowly. The knights were all sleeping soundly, already, Percy’s snores the only sound from them. Merlin looked up from his work and smiled as he saw Lancelot walk out in from the darkness. Setting the harness aside, the servant gave a small wave and settled in, yawning widely. 

Picking his way around his sleeping friends, Lancelot approached the fire and the last man awake. He and Arthur were sharing first watch, and so the prince was sitting on a log beside the small fire, back to the dirt wall they’d used as shelter, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the embers and dancing flame. Arthur was contemplative, his jaw working side to side as he watched the fire, his thumbnail picking at his lip. 

He had been quiet the entire trip. If Lancelot was to be honest, Arthur had been quiet since they had defeated the immortal army. Lancelot understood; he couldn’t imagine what kind of stress Arthur had to deal with between his sister’s betrayal, his father’s decline, and the sudden responsibility of a kingdom resting on his shoulders. Lancelot settled onto the rock Percival had carried over, opposite the fire from Arthur, and watched his prince. Except for the soft snoring, the crackle of the flames, and the sound of the wind rattling the trees’ branches, there was a heavy, exhausted silence between them, and over the camp itself. Lancelot breathed deeply, the warmth of the fire settling on his face and legs.

Lancelot was almost startled when Arthur broke the silence. “We should head back to Camelot in the morning.”

The prince wasn’t looking at Lancelot, his gaze held fixated by the fire. Lancelot frowned. “The plan was for us to ride through some of the northern villages, circle back to the east.”

“I know.” Lancelot didn’t push when that was all that was forthcoming. Merlin would, he knew (and get an answer out of the prince eventually) but with everyone else, it would be more likely to anger the prince, not force him the reveal what he was thinking. Arthur was still not one to express himself easily, or take well to explaining the process behind his decisions. “Do you think this is helping them?” he asked, finally. 

Lancelot understood; the reason behind this patrol was to reassure the villages that everything was under control now that Morgana’s reign was over, but not everything was going smoothly. “I think the people of Camelot need to know that you are there. Even if it is just to see you. Even if it is just to allow them to hide in their homes and watch from behind their shutters as you ride past.” _That_ had happened in the last village they’d passed through, and Lancelot had seen how ramrod-straight Arthur’s back had been as he rode, staring ahead as his people hid from him.

“If they don’t believe I can protect them, even when I am _there_...” He made a face and glanced around at the knights, still sleeping. He shook his head. “The people need my father to get well. I should be back in Camelot with him. That is the only way to reassure them.” There was longing in his voice, and guilt, as if all he wanted was to hide in the citadel and pretend that he wasn’t king, because he wasn’t and he didn’t want to be, he wasn’t ready. Lancelot knew this already. He had seen it on his face even as they prepared to ride out, in the way Arthur looked back at the doors, the way he hesitated before riding through the gates. 

“They do believe in you, Arthur,” Lancelot said. Arthur had been afraid, but had ridden out, anyway, because the people of Camelot came first. “Just like we do.” He extended an arm to include the rest of the knights. “We all came back for you, didn’t we?”

For the first time since they started talking, Arthur looked at Lancelot, meeting his gaze over the fire. His face was lit by the dying flames, serious and filled with doubts. But he must’ve had an inner warning system for when a conversation is getting too serious, because he smiled and shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, you must not have known what you were getting into. All glamour, the life of a knight of Camelot, isn’t it?”

And Lancelot could go along with it, and agree, because it was most definitely _not_. In the last month, Lancelot had secretly taken out an immortal army, had battled through rain and mud and sleet to rebuild the lower town, and had been forced to prove himself again and again to the noble-born knights who weren’t at the round table and didn’t think any of them were worthy.... It had been anything but glamourous. It had been _work_ , and hard work at that. He could agree, and the conversation would end there and Arthur would sit and muse on what was bothering him until Percy and Elyan got up for the mid-watch, and then he would no doubt lay in his bedroll and muse into the night.

It would feel like a failure, on Lancelot’s part. Because, Lancelot came back for a reason; it wasn’t just about Merlin being in trouble. Lancelot had believed in Arthur enough to head to Camelot the moment he heard that Morgana had taken over, without even knowing if Arthur was still alive, having only his sword to offer.

Lancelot knew that part of that devotion was second-hand, that it was Merlin’s devotion. Merlin, who saw right to the heart of people, who looked at Lancelot and saw a knight before he’d thought he could be one, himself. Merlin, who was willing to take all those risks to help Lancelot fulfill that dream, because he could see in Lancelot someone who should have a _chance_ at becoming what he was _meant_ to be. Merlin, who grinned like a boy and deferred to Arthur’s position and arrogance and title (yes, he did, really, even if he wasn’t always graceful about it), but who was every bit Arthur’s equal in power – if Arthur was wild rapids, all movement and obvious danger and sharp points, Merlin was a deep running river; you could get close to Merlin, could stand on the edge and think you were safe, but if you walked too deep, you’d be lost there, irrevocably, because the depths gave up neither their secrets nor their dead.

Lancelot knew he couldn’t say that, of course. Arthur didn’t _know_ ; he looked at Merlin and he saw the surface waters and _he_ could get submerged in that river and emerge unscathed, because Merlin protected him from everything, even himself. Arthur didn’t know what Merlin had given to Lancelot: that affirmation that someone like Merlin – someone who made those sacrifices and stuck to them, someone who put himself in harm’s way for what he believes in, someone who had so much power, power enough to do _anything_ , but who only used it for the good of everyone else – someone like _that_ looked at Lancelot and told him he could be a great knight. Someone like that put themselves on the line for someone like Lancelot. 

And someone like that looked at a prince who didn’t know who he was without his father’s edicts, who made rash decisions and didn’t see to the depths of people and he saw a man who would be greater than them all. Merlin looked at Arthur and saw this great future where everything could be made right, and _that_ made Lancelot believe.

Arthur didn’t see himself clearly, even now. He saw only his failings, his insecurities and he doubted. And Lancelot knew that could destroy him, but he thought it made him strong too. 

So, Lancelot said, “I did know what I was getting into. I came back anyway.”

“Why?” Arthur asked, trying to sound like the question doesn’t matter. He looked around the camp, again, at each of the knights and Merlin.

Lancelot smiled. “Because you do _that_ ,” he said. Arthur looked at him quizzically, not understanding. “Do you know how many times you’ve checked the camp, making sure that each of them is still there, and safe?” Arthur looked surprised, maybe because Lancelot noticed, but more likely because Arthur hadn’t even _noticed_ he was doing it. Because the level of responsibility he felt for those under his protection was so great, it had long become instinct for him to watch over them. “You walk through the lower town and you have that same expression, like you’re checking up on people you care about, making sure everyone is still safe. You looked at a peasant woman today who had lost her crops when the army marched through, and you looked at her like she was a person, like you really cared whether she starved or not, and then you made sure she wouldn’t. You care about people, Arthur, and they can see that.” 

Arthur huffed and scratched the back of his neck, grinning crookedly. “Don’t let my father know,” he joked, almost-bitterly. “Or, on second thought, do. If anything could get him back on the throne, hearing how _soft_ I’ve gone would be it.”

Lancelot smiled slightly, knowing that Arthur was embarrassed, because it wasn’t what Uther saw as the trait of a good King; he saw only disconnect and prestige as power. Arthur thought the differences between him and Uther were shortcomings. Lancelot, though, knew that people feared and respected Uther, but they loved Arthur. They loved him more every day, and it was becoming fierce, that love. It was the devotion that went beyond the petty hopes for their own future, or even fear for their own lives. And the knights had long since fallen for Arthur in the same way, would sacrifice themselves to any peril to keep their prince safe. It was stronger than fear, stronger than respect. 

Lancelot knew better than to say it out loud, because to compare Arthur to Uther would never be taken lightly. Instead, he said, “It’s not weakness to care about your people. We appreciate it, you know. All of us do, and the people of Camelot do as well.”

Arthur breathed a laugh, started to check on the knights again and caught himself, and instead stared into the fire. Lancelot smiled, and let the silence grow again. It was more comfortable this time, but there was still a weight between them, something left unsaid. 

Arthur sighed. “We almost didn’t win at all, and this, anyway... it feels like a small victory,” he said, his expression that twist of sadness meaning he was thinking of his sister.

Lancelot nodded, thinking of a manservant and a cup of blood. “Those are the kind the future is built on,” Lancelot said.

Arthur stared over the fire, thinking it through. “You didn’t know any of that when you agreed to be knighted,” Arthur said finally. “You didn’t even know if we were going to survive.”

Lancelot shook his head. “No, we didn’t.”

Arthur shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, stared into the fire. Finally, he looked over the flames at Lancelot and took a deep breath. “Why did you stay?”

“There are people who would sacrifice, have been sacrificing, everything to see you as King. Not because it is our duty or because it is a job, but because we believe in you. Because we look at you and we don’t just see a prince, the future King because he is the son of a King... if that was all you were to us, I would not have returned. Gwaine would not have followed Merlin to the Perilous Lands... Merlin –” He took a breath. “ –we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t look at you and see the future of Camelot. You will be a great King, _you_ , Arthur Pendragon, because of everything you are and could be.

“I came back because I already knew all this, before you ever knighted me.”

Arthur laughed but his laughter is light, carefree for a moment. “You sound like Merlin,” he said, deflecting again. 

Lancelot shrugged. “There are worse things,” he said smiling. 

Arthur leaned back, setting his elbows against the dirt behind him and the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. “Time to wake the others, _finally_ ,” he said as he pushed himself up to wake the next watch.

Lancelot stretched as he stood and walked to his bedroll. Elyan was sitting up, rubbing his face. Arthur had made his way to Percival’s bedroll and was shaking the knight’s shoulder gently, whispering as he woke him. Lancelot smiled as he unlaced his boots.

He thought that Arthur would sleep through the night, instead of worrying. Lancelot thought that Arthur would have them break camp in the morning, that he would turn towards Camelot for a moment, maybe, but that he would order them to head north to reassure the villages there that all was well.

It was a small victory, but a victory all the same.


End file.
